


oh bee-have

by trisarahtops



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bad Puns, Clan Lavellan - Freeform, Excessive bee puns, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Dorian's family, Minor Injuries, Parent-Child Relationship, Parents being understanding and loving, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slavery, selective mutism, that one weapon thats just a stick with a beehive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 11:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16196705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trisarahtops/pseuds/trisarahtops
Summary: “A stick with bees isn’t a sword!”“I’m calling it ‘The Stinger’, what do you think?”“I think you’re a dumbass!”Dalinev laughed loudly and without care, seemingly having no fear of the frantic buzzing Telahn could hear. “And yet I’m training you, so what’s that say about you then?”“Oh Mythal, protect me, for this man will get me killed," Telahn said, voice cracking. Dalinev just laughed harder. “Wait- you don’t even use a sword!”Or: Telahn Lavellan is an apprentice hunter out with his mentor when they hear slave traffickers nearby their camp. It gets messy, there's bees involved, Dorian is there.





	oh bee-have

The best thing about being an apprentice hunter was that Telahn was given far more freedom than he’d ever experienced before. He was able to waste time climbing trees with the excuse of keeping watch, able to watch the bears over the ridge without fearful warnings from the others, able to practice fighting without holding back, and most of all, able to choose the path he wanted to take each day.

 

The worst thing was that Dalinev had more freedoms and was technically in charge. The man was a good teacher; patient, kind and was able to take a joke. But he was just so…

 

“Check this out!”

 

…Unpredictable.

 

Dalinev’s high voice had an almost manic tone. Telahn only climbed halfway down his perch, not quite trusting his mentor to not simply throw a nug at him just to test his reaction time.

 

“ _Is that_ -“ Telahn could barely speak.

 

Dalinev beamed. “A stick with a beehive wedged between the branches? Yes it is!”

 

“ _Put it back!_ ”

 

“What? No! I’ve made the best sword ever!”

 

Telahn wondered if Dalinev had somehow become possessed by a spirit who thrived on chaos, but dismissed it, because Dalinev had always been like this. A chaos spirit might calm him down.

 

“A stick with bees isn’t a sword!”

 

“I’m calling it ‘The Stinger’, what do you think?”

 

“I think you’re a dumbass!”

 

Dalinev laughed loudly and without care, seemingly having no fear of the frantic buzzing Telahn could hear. “And yet I’m training you, so what’s that say about you then?”

 

“Oh Mythal, protect me for this man will get me killed.” Telahn said, voice cracking. Dalinev just laughed harder. “Wait- you don’t even use a sword!”

 

Dalinev shrugged and Telahn watched with wide eyes as the hive on the stick shifted and more bees came flying out. “Yeah, but what kind of hunter would I be if I didn’t have at least _some_ training with a blade-”

 

“That’s not a blade, that’s a stick with some very angry bees.” He cut in, but was promptly ignored.

 

“-though I’m better with daggers, swords are manageable. And bees are a good in a fight!”

 

Telahn had been Dalinev’s apprentice for almost a month now, and he still somehow managed to be utterly gobsmacked by the things he heard. The man was nearing his 28th year and Telahn truly felt more sane when around the twelve year old twins back at camp who made up their own language to speak to each other.

 

But then Dalinev’s face changed. His eyebrows furrowed and he tilted his head, ears twitching. His expression was serious, showing no sign of his playful laughter just moments before.

 

Telahn copied, but could only hear the wind, leaves and endless bees.

 

A moment passed, then another, as Telahn waited in tense silence, straining to hear anything out of the ordinary. He jumped when a young bird squawked for it’s mother in a nearby tree. Then, wait,  yes- there!

 

Distantly, the sound of a wagon, maybe more than one, and the tell-tale clipping of hooves on the gravel path.

 

The camp was hidden away from the path, but it was always worth investigating who was nearby. If it was a friendly group, then possibilities for trading could not be ignored. And if noticeably hostile, then better to get them by surprise.

 

Telahn finished climbing down the tree without a sound, looking to his mentor for instruction.

 

Dalinev grimaced, and Telahn could almost see how torn he was over what to do: take Telahn with him to investigate the wagon, potentially placing him in danger, or send him back to camp to get more hunters to act as backup if needed.

 

Keeper Deshanna always reinforced the need for safety and the wellbeing of the clan, particularly the children and those still without their _vallaslin_ , like Telahn was.

 

Dalinev breathed deeply, then gestured for Telahn to follow silently. So they went, the buzzing of the hive barely registering as they made their way towards the path.

 

 

 

As they approached the path someway ahead of the wagon, they both found trees with appropriate cover to hide in. Telahn’s dark skin and light hair would blend into the dry foliage like he belonged there.

 

“You must stay hidden unless necessary, _da’assan_.” _Little arrow_. Telahn felt a weight in his gut, suddenly fearful of what Dalinev could hear that would inspire him to use such an endearment.

 

Telahn could hear voices, muffled and too distant to make out words. A louder thump over a bump in the road told him that at least one of the wagons was heavy, and an unusual clinking of metal made him wonder just what the cargo was. Weapons? Possibly a large delivery of armour or shields.

 

A small gasp made Telahn focus on Dalinev, who was pale.

 

 _Girem’lin,_ Dalinev mouthed, looking horrified and Telahn felt cold. _Slaves._

 

The wagon came into view and Telahn got his first sight of the monsters that had haunted his dreams and memories since he was young.

 

Two human men, both so ordinary and plain Telahn wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between them. Both were smiling, seeming happy with their job; one in charge of the over-worked horses and one occasionally turning around to look at the wagon’s cargo.

 

On the back of the wagon there was a large cage crammed with people. With too many for them all to sit on the benches, some were standing. Even from a distance he could see they were mostly elves, the occasional glimpse of humans and possibly a dwarf, though it may have been a child.

 

Telahn sincerely hoped it was a dwarf.

 

As the wagon grew closer he could see a second appear from behind, though this was carrying supplies and another two free humans. From his distance away, he could see that one held a staff loosely while the other had a sword strapped, probably quite uncomfortably, to his back and was holding the reins. Telahn could hear a cheerful whistle.

 

A glance back at the front wagon showed the same formation, one mage free to move and one warrior holding the horses.

 

The call of a bird only seen in the more Southern parts of the Free Marches, far from where they were now, brought his attention back to Dalinev, who was gripping his bow so tightly Telahn feared for a moment it would snap.

 

 _It is your choice_ , Dalinev signed, fingers moving quickly.

 

 _There is only one choice_ , Telahn signed back.

 

Dalinev looked grim, but nodded. _Wait for my signal, we must warn the others first_.

 

He whistled a tune, loud and mournful and very clearly unnatural. The humans did not seem to notice. His whistling carried on until he heard it back; a red crested parakeet had picked up the tune.

 

As Dalinev stopped, he heard it again and again, deeper into the woods it carried as more of the birds mimicked. The camp would send some hunters to scout towards the sound, while the rest of the camp packed and prepared the aravels in case of an emergency.

 

The tune was one of a clear instruction, something Telahn had feared for so long: humans close, they are dangerous.

 

The wagons were almost upon them when Dalinev gave the signal to get ready, gesturing to the back wagon.

 

 _I will get the front humans and then distract, the back wagon mage looks injured, take her out first,_ Dalinev signed.

 

Telahn nodded, glanced down at the daggers hidden on him and instead aimed his bow. He saw an approving nod out of the corner of his eye and took a deep breath. He was better with close range fighting and never felt comfortable with a bow, his eyes never seeming able to focus on a target so far away.

 

He breathed again, slowly. In, out.

 

Then he heard a tiny, almost inaudible, giggle. He glanced over and Dalinev had his bow aimed and pulled taut, but it was not an arrow notched to fire.

 

It was the beehive stick.

 

He was going to shoot the beehive stick at the wagons.

 

Dalinev caught his eye and grinned, looking very pleased with himself. Then looked back at his target—and fired. The stick was not an arrow and did not actually go where aimed, instead, it hit the ground by the horse’s feet and unleashed a swarm of furious bees.

 

The chaos was instantaneous.

 

The horses reared back in shock, the people screamed and the bees’ buzz was a roar.

 

The wagons came to a shuddering stop, jolting the trapped slaves and knocking some to the crowded floor. They all huddled together, shielding each other from the bees who clearly had no preference of who they were angry at.

 

The next arrow that came flying from Dalinev’s bow hit true, nailing the front mage in the throat where he gripped it with a shocked gurgle. The front warrior was still trying to swat away the bees as he charged towards the tree the arrow came from, face covered in small red welts.

 

Telahn’s arrow was not so smooth, his shaking hands skewed the path and it embedded into the second wagon’s wood, sticking out like a toothpick by the humans’ seat. Bees were swarming his targets, and the warrior was screaming, not even noticing the arrow narrowly missing his leg.

 

His second arrow missed his intended, the mage, and somehow pierced the tiny gap in the warrior’s armour between his chest plate and stomach, and was firmly in the man’s gut. The man yelled and fell face-first, impaling himself on the arrow.

 

Telahn blinked in shock. He never would have been able to make that shot intentionally.

 

Then the mage he was aiming for launched a massive flaming burst at the tree where he perched.

 

Telahn fell with a shocked yelp, feeling the flames of the now burning tree lick at his skin. The dry leaves were ravaged by the fire and rained down on him in falling embers, twisting in the air. He landed in a heap and felt his bow snap under him. The twang of the string whipped his wrist.  He was winded and his mind was a static mess for a mere moment before reality brought him gasping back to his situation.

 

He had no cover, no weapons he could use to fight from where he was slumped on the ground; a distance fighter like the mage would have an advantage.

 

Still trying to force air into his lungs and seeing no other option to take, he pulled his daggers out and lurched forward. But his ankle protested and buckled under him.  

 

The mage fired another fire ball at him, and Telahn was forced to duck behind the flaming tree. He cursed and looked for Dalinev.

 

 

Dalinev rained arrows down upon the warrior, but they glanced off his armour and it looked like only one had managed to hit a weak spot, blood now dripping from the man’s inner elbow. Despite the blood, he was gripping a massive sword with two hands and his only sign of noticing the pain was the grimace etched on his face.

 

“Fucking knife-ear! Get down here and fight with some honour!” The warrior snarled, his teeth bared.

 

Dalinev replied with another arrow, this one glancing off the man’s helmet.

 

“I’ll get you down here myself!” The man firmly planted his feet and swung.

 

The tree was old, large and settling in for the coming winter. It was not going to be bested by a human and simply shook under the hit, a few leaves falling. However, the sword remained lodged in the bark and the man roared trying to pull it out.

 

“ _Lasa adahl su nar masa!”_ Dalinev shouted and launched himself on top the man, landing on his shoulders and stabbing both daggers into his throat. He fell with a loud clatter of armour and blood sprayed up onto Dalinev as he pulled the daggers out.

 

Dalinev looked up sharply when he heard a piercing scream.

 

“Telahn!”

 

The boy’s arm was on fire, bright flames threatening to spread as he rolled on the ground trying to put it out. Further beyond him, the second mage was aiming her staff for another attack.

 

Dalinev didn’t have time to hesitate. He moved without thinking and the dagger left his hand and embedded itself into the mage’s eye socket with a disgusting precision. The mage screamed, her blood splattering down her robes as she fell. Then, silence.

 

He sprinted to Telahn.

 

With the mage’s death, her spell dissipated and Telahn managed to smother the fire. The trees were still alight, but no longer ravaged with any magical intent.

 

“ _Lethal’lin_ , are you okay?” Telahn tried to force a smile that looked pained at best, but he didn’t say anything. “Where else are you injured?”

 

With his right hand looking painfully crispy, Telahn used his left to gesture to his right ankle. _Fell_.

 

“You hurt your ankle when you fell? From the tree?” Dalinev continued when Telahn nodded. “Anywhere else?” He shook his head. “Can you talk?” He shook his head again and Dalinev sighed. “It will be okay, _lethal’lin,_ the words will come back when they’re ready.”

 

Telahn let out a soft huff and jerked his head to the wagons.

 

Dalinev looked and took in the carnage. Four dead bodies, all still and blood pooling and staining the dirt around them. The stench of faeces and piss invading the air. The horses restless and startled, making unhappy noises. And a cage still full of slaves.

 

With the slavers dead, he was finally able to actually _look_ at them. There looked to be twelve of them, nine being elven and three human. All looked to be hungry, bruised and dirty. Bee stings were clear on at least half of them, and Dalinev pretended not to notice so he didn’t feel so bad.

 

The bees were moving on, so Dalinev didn’t worry as he walked to the heavy lock.

 

He sent a soft thanks to the Creators when he saw it was a complex lock, and not sealed with a rune. That would have been a problem. He wiped his hands dry on his pants, leaving bloody streaks, and got to work.

 

When it finally clicked open, he heard a sob from one of the slaves and he found himself looking into the eyes of a child. The others let him help her out of the cage first, murmuring soft encouragements for her to climb down.

 

She looked barely five years, with tiny hands and big brown eyes. Her ears, long and pointed like his, were mostly hidden by the mess of her hair, but she looked unhurt.

 

Distantly, he heard the sound of a horn and felt relief wash over him. His clan was coming, they would all be okay. 

 

 

 

 

 

They took all the freed slaves with them back to the camp. All except two of the elves were city elves, growing up in alienages or as slaves. The other two were captured by slavers and taken from their clans when they were children, too young to defend themselves and no way to escape.

 

The three humans were quiet. Two of them admitted, as they all stumbled towards the camp, that they were born into slavery and had tried to flee Tevinter but had been caught. The last human was silent, and not by choice.

 

He had a horrible metal contraption sealed with a rune wrapped around his head, with a piece of metal going into his mouth. Dalinev felt sick looking at it; it reminded him of a bridle worn by a horse. The man’s hands, like the others, were cuffed together, but unlike the others, his were pulled behind his back and locked with another rune.

 

“We are going to have to wait until we return to camp to get that off you. We’re going to need a mage, the rune really complicates it,” Dalinev told the man.

 

The man gave him what may have been a smile and a small shrug, but the wince that followed made him unsure.

 

The man, along with the Telahn, the child, and three of the more injured people, were seated on the second wagon, sitting amongst the supplies as Dalinev sat next to the blood stains and steered the reins. Other clan members walked beside them, helping anyone too fatigued as they walked and keeping watch.

 

The fire had thankfully been contained, one of the hunters who were also a mage had enough control to subdue it before it spread. All that remained was the blackened bark and ashes of the leaves. The wagon with the cage had been pushed into the tree line; they would destroy the cage and take the wagon when they had everyone back safely.

 

“Telahn,” Dalinev looked at him with an assessing gaze. “How are you?”

 

 

 _How are you?_ Well, that was a good question.

 

One time, when Telahn was young and still settling into the clan, he had helped cook the clan’s feast for a day to honour their ancestors. He had not been allowed to help hunt, skin, peel or chop anything, his new mother explaining that it had to be done a certain way. But stirring the stew, that was fine.

 

So he had stirred, feeling like the importance of the role was his destiny and oh, Creators did he stir. He stirred the stew, staring into the mixture, making sure none caught on the sides or stuck to the bottom, until he finally, so caught up in the task, placed his hand on the pot.

 

He remembered the smell of cooking meat, screaming, the iron pot sticking to his hand, the heat coursing over his skin and finally, the jolting relief of his hand under water. Everything else was a blur of pain.

 

Telahn, age seven, had thought nothing could be more painful.

 

Currently, Telahn, age nineteen, thought that experience seemed quite pleasant.

 

 _It hurts_ , he signed to Dalinev, _but we will be back soon_.

 

Dalinev nodded and glanced at Telahn’s mouth. _Words still gone?_

 

Telahn nodded, but didn’t elaborate. It wasn’t the first time his voice had left him and he doubted it would be the last.

 

 

 

The healing tent was overrun with patients and Telahn found himself sitting outside, slumped on a bear fur blanket. He shivered at a strong gust of wind, feeling exposed with no shirt on. His clothing had been cut away to free his arm, and now he sat, bare chested and on display. His burnt arm had been taken care of and a poultice now coated it from fingertip to shoulder.

 

His ankle, however, had been strapped and was being elevated by his mother, who looked frazzled and close to tears. He would not be able to walk on it freely for some weeks to come. Though the prospect of being forced to use crutches was daunting, he knew his mother would help him get comfortable with them. Regardless, he couldn’t use them until his arm was free of the poultice.

 

The tea beside him, a healing brew his mother had forced into his hand, was bitter and he forced small sips down when his mother’s pointed looks took on the expression of ‘I will force that down your throat’.

 

“ _Mae_ , I am okay, stop worrying,” Telahn said, using his free hand to pat hers. He was grateful that he had found his voice again, knowing if his mother knew he had reverted back to silence then she would be twice as concerned.

 

“Oh _da’lath’in_ , you are too kind for your own good,” she frowned, though it was affectionate and her mouth quirked into a small smile. “Let me worry, you have had a very big day.” She nodded at his tea again and made an approving noise when he took another sip.

 

Dalinev approached them, the human with the awful muzzle by his side. The human looked shaky on his feet, but his hands were free now, so Telahn thought he was probably feeling at least a little bit better. The hands kept straying to his face, prodding at the metal over his mouth.

 

“Yara, I am sorry to interrupt,” Dalinev said while nodding at his mother, and then looked to Telahn. “ _Lethal’lin_ , how are you feeling?”

 

Telahn smiled at the term, “I am feeling much better, thanks to you.”

 

Dalinev shook his head, “I would not have been able to take both wagons alone, you are just as much responsible for the success of today as I am.”

 

“Um,” Telahn raised an eyebrow. “I literally fell from a tree, broke my ankle and caught on fire?”

 

His mother made a choking noise and Dalinev rolled his eyes. “You also took out their warrior and gave me the opportunity to take out their other mage.” Telahn looked sceptical. “What, you think I could have taken on four people trying to kill me at once? I mean, thanks for the confidence but uhh, no I definitely could not have.”

 

Telahn tilted his head. Dalinev made sense, but it certainly didn’t feel like he had done anything useful.

 

“I think the bees helped.”

 

“Oh, the bees definitely helped.”

 

“The _bees?_ ” His mother said, eyes shifting between the two of them.

 

“Not important,” Dalinev waved his hand dismissively, a light blush gracing his cheeks. “I actually need your help.”

 

His mother sat up straighter, though she still gently held Telahn’s ankle, keeping it elevated.

 

“Is this about our poor friend here?” She nodded to the man with the muzzle.

 

Dalinev scratched the side of his face, some dried blood flaking off. “Yeah, the Keeper is busy organising what we’re going to do with another twelve people to look after. She released his hands but this lock is gonna take longer. She said you would know how to remove the bridle, but she didn’t want to summon you to her when obviously you’d want to be with Telahn.”

 

Telahn shifted, lifting his injured foot out of his mother’s grasp and resting it on the ground delicately. “Help the man _Mae_ , I will still be here when you are finished.”

 

“Are you sure, _da’lath’in_? We can find Tuelartha, she will know how to release the lock too.”

 

Tuelartha was the Keeper’s Second and likely _would_ know how to free the man, but she had a talent for healing magic and was currently in the tent busy with the others.

 

“ _Mae_ , don’t be silly. I am not dying, it’s just a broken ankle.” He looked her in the eyes and spoke seriously, voice soft. “Help him be free, like you helped me.”

 

His mother closed her dark eyes and smiled faintly. “Of course, and just like how you helped him from the slavers.” He rolled his eyes; trust her to twist it back at him. “Don’t be cheeky. Be proud of what you did today, you helped them. Dalinev was not alone.”

 

Telahn didn’t reply, simply watched as his mother pulled herself over so she was facing him and gestured the silent man over to the space beside Telahn, a small cushion placed in front of her.

 

“If I’m doing this, then we will be keeping my son within my sights at all times.”

 

Dalinev smiled and guided the man down onto the blanket slowly. Telahn could see the man was shaking, small trembles rippled through his hands. The man was young (early twenties, Telahn thought, but the bridle made it hard to tell) and probably in shock. Or maybe just hungry, had he been allowed to eat with that thing trapping his face? Had he been allowed water?

 

“Have you been able to drink anything? Or eat?” The man’s eyes focused on him, though his head remained still, allowing his mother to keep working.

 

His mother paused her movement and waited for the man to answer. He shook his head. “Well, all the more reason to get this awful thing off you as soon as possible.”

 

Dalinev sent a sad look at the man, gave Telahn a small pat on the head as a goodbye and walked away.

 

The man’s eyes, grey and tired, roamed over Telahn as they sat. There was nothing else for him to do, so Telahn did not blame him for looking around, but it felt uncomfortable all the same. Without a shirt, he was painfully aware of the brand just below his collarbone.

 

The brand was an inky black and the shape of a stylised H, the same marking all slaves under the house were given. House Hortensis. The thought of the name brings bile to the back of Telahn’s throat. Telahn had been born into the house, a child of an already pregnant slave the head of the family had purchased.

 

He didn’t know what happened to his birth mother and he had no idea who his father was. His memories of being a slave were vague. It blurs together in an image of hands, magic and fear. He doesn’t try to remember any more than that.

 

But he remembers the escape. The three other slaves who smuggled him away from the house. He remembers that, after four days of hiding and fleeing from everyone they met, only one other slave was with him. The others had been caught and taken back.

 

That’s when Clan Lavellan found them.

 

The man’s eyes linger on the mark and Telahn covers it with his hand, face burning.

 

 

By the time the lock is released and the bridle is able to be removed, Telahn’s mother is sweating and the sun is beginning to set. The sky is turning orange and the temperature cooling quickly. Telahn had been given a blanket to curl up under, only kept from dozing by the pain in his arm. It’s due to have the poultice changed shortly and he’s looking forward to the cooling relief of fresh elfroot. His ankle isn’t bothering him much, keeping still is something he is quite good at.

 

Telahn watched the bridle come off slowly, delicately. The man is shaking as the mouthpiece is removed and Telahn can see how cracked his lips are. He lets out a big breath and it sounds almost like a sob.

 

“You’re okay, you’re free, you’re okay,” Telahn hears his mother murmur, rubbing her hands over his arm soothingly. The man’s hands tremble as they trace his own face, feeling the skin free from the metal and softly touching the chafing left behind. “Here, sip slowly, nothing too much yet.” The man accepts the water pouch, drinking desperately and stopping only when its pulled away. “I’m sorry, sweet boy. You’re going to fast, you will make yourself sick.”

 

“Thank you,” the man croaked. He closed his eyes in relief and licked his lips. He looks exhausted and Telahn doesn’t blame him.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

The man’s eyes stay closed as he replies, voice rough from disuse and dehydration. “Dorian Pavus. May I ask your names?”

 

Telahn and his mother both pause at the obvious accent and Tevinter full name. It now seems unlikely that he was a slave fleeing.

 

“I am Yara, First to the Keeper of Clan Lavellan,” his mother replied, voice still soft though her tone harder than before.

 

He doubts that Dorian knows what that title means, but he respectfully inclines his head in response.

 

“And this is Telahn, he is my son.”

 

Dorian looks at him now, eyes flicker back to where the slave brand is hidden by the blanket. “I was a slave,” Telahn said, answering the unspoken question. “But not anymore. Never again.” He paused, watching Dorian carefully. “You weren’t a slave, were you?”

 

“I was a hostage,” Dorian said, his fingers rubbing the chafing on his jaw. “My mother inherited a rather large fortune recently from an estranged aunt, it seems the rest of the family was not pleased about being left out of the will.”

 

“Your _family_ was holding you hostage?” His mother’s hands grip the water pouch tightly and water spills over, wetting the blanket. “Over _money_?”

 

“That side of my family is, hmm, how do I say this?” He frowned and licked his lips. “Rather disapproving of my father’s decisions.” Telahn and his mother exchange a look, both wondering just what could be so bad that wealthy Tevinter families disapprove and kidnap each other’s children. “He’s quite vocal with his dislike of blood magic, something my mother’s family feel very passionate about. May I have some more water please?”

 

His mother wordlessly passes him the pouch. She looks different, more like the Keeper’s First than she does his mother. Dorian drinks too much. Telahn can tell he will probably be sick if he carries on without instruction to stop, so Telahn reaches out and lightly pulls it away from him. He looked disappointed but doesn’t fight to hold onto it.

 

“Did your family put that thing on you?” Telahn asked, jerking his head at the bridle on the ground.

 

Dorian hesitated, looking at it in distaste. “No, that was the slavers. They uh, did not seem to appreciate my commentary.” Telahn frown in confusion. “I think they thought shutting me up like that was amusing.”

 

“And your hands?”

 

“Now that _was_ my family.” Dorian gave a humourless smile. “They didn’t want me using magic to escape.”

 

“I think that we should see the Keeper now, she will know what we should do.” She stood and looked down at the two still on the ground. Despite her firmer tone, Telahn can see concern when she looks at Dorian.

 

Dorian turned to face Telahn again, looking at him calmly. “Thank you for your help, you helped save me and everyone else trapped in that awful cage.”

 

“Were the slavers, the ones we killed… Were they your family?”

 

Dorian paused, looking shocked at the question. “Oh no, definitely not. They were the dreadful people my family hired to transport me to Hasmal. I think that is where they were going to keep me until my mother paid them the amount they asked for.”

 

“Good,” Telahn said seriously. “I’m glad I didn’t kill your family in front of you. Though I can’t say I am sorry to have been a part of their death. Anyone who treats living people like property deserves to die.”

 

 Dorian paused, then nodded. “Yes, I… quite agree.”

 

Telahn mentally added up what he knew about this man. Tevinter, mage, dangerous family, wealthy. There was an odd tension in the air now and Telahn felt the question heavy on his tongue. _Do you own slaves?_

 

“Come now,” his mother interrupted. “We should find the Keeper and explain your circumstances.” She then looked to Telahn. “Please do not injure yourself further while I am gone. If you need something, ask someone.”

 

“No promises, _Mae_.”

 

And just like that, the tension was broken.

 

She groaned. “Do not be a _dahn’direlan_ , Telahn. You give me too much stress.”

 

Telahn snorted at her choice of words. “Dalinev is the _dahn’direlan_ , mother, I assure you.”

 

Dalinev appeared as if summoned. “I didn’t punch the bees, Telahn! I shot them at the slavers!”

 

“You what?”

 

Telahn laughed and Dorian smiled, though he was missing part of the joke. Telahn thought it was unlikely that he could speak any Dalish.

 

“This is the second time you’ve mentioned bees, and don’t think I haven’t noticed how many of those still in the tent are covered in stings,” his mother looked at Dalinev, eyes narrowed, though mouth quirked up. She was amused. “I want to hear exactly how this rescue of yours happened. But first, Dorian and I need to speak to the Keeper.”

 

Dorian nodded and stood, swaying dangerously but kept up by Dalinev’s quick motion to hook his arm around him.

 

“I’ll come with, I need to let the Keeper know the little one wants to stay.”

 

“She wants to stay?” Telahn beamed. The little elven girl from the cage had been quiet on the wagon back to the camp, but he had seen her wide eyes gazing at Dalinev in gratitude. She was a tiny thing with big eyes and a face full of freckles.

 

“Yes, she seems to be growing quite attached to me too. She said her name is Aranehn.” Dalinev’s face flushed. “She told Tuelartha she wants to stay with me.”

 

Telahn grinned. “Congratulations, it’s a girl!”

 

“ _Dhava ‘ma masa_ , Telahn.” Dalinev replied, reaching over to flick Telahn in the side of the head.

 

Telahn laughed and leaned away, rubbing his head. “Kiss your own ass, _Bae._ ”

 

“Don’t call me a dad, I’m not even 28! It’s too soon!”

 

“I meant it more as daddy to be honest.”

 

“That’s _worse_! Stop it!”

 

Telahn just laughed harder.

 

“Okay, come on Dorian,” his mother said, ignoring the two. “Dalinev can come when he stops behaving like a teenager again.”

 

“I don’t bee-have like a teenager!” He signed _bee_ to make his joke clear, his own laugh louder than anyone else.

 

Telahn had tears of laughter welling in his eyes. “Guess he’ll never be joining you, _Mae_.”

 

 “Don’t bee such a buzzkill, Telahn.”

 

Telahn wheezed and his tears fell.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” his mother said with a small chuckle.

 

“I’m never ridiculous.”

 

“Even I know that’s a lie,” Dorian cut in. He was smiling and the act had caused his lip to crack properly, blood now welling. “Oh dear.”

 

Telahn passed him the water pouch back and wiped his tears away. He looked to Dalinev, still grinning. “Go do the responsible things now. I can be ridiculous by myself, don’t worry.”

 

 

 

Darkness had settled over the forest like a consoling blanket and the ambient sounds of birds and bugs had lulled Telahn into a fitful slumber. He was curled up by the fire, bundled under blankets and pelts to keep him toasty warm. His arm was bandaged with a fresh poultice, cool and comfortable. But his dreams had been plagued by the slavers faces, blood stains and blank, dead eyes. Phantom hands pulled at him, tugging his body and filling him with ice-cold dread.

 

He woke with a start, body jolting back with a pounding heart and strangled cry on his lips.

 

“Shh.” Familiar hands stroked his hair. Soft, soothing and repetitive. “Rest, _da’lath’in,_ you’re safe.”

 

Telahn stayed quiet, eyes half open and gazing up at his mother.

 

He remembered when he met her. The way she had knelt beside him so she didn’t tower over, the gentle hand on his shoulder guiding him to the healing tent. She had held his hand when the healer assessed him, bandaged wounds and made him drink potions.

 

“You’re safe here,” she had whispered as he shook. “You’re free. You’re safe.”

 

She had been determined to get him to talk. Even with her duties as the Keeper’s First she made time to sit with him everyday, speak to him softly and asking him questions. And then, when the progress was moving too slowly, the painstaking lessons teaching him to sign. She had been kind, patient and reassuring.

 

She had been full of life and energy, eyes bright and face smooth. Now, thirteen years on, she looked older. More wrinkles were gathering by her eyes, cheeks starting to sag.

 

When she thought he wasn’t looking, she was tired.

 

“You love him.”

 

Dorian’s voice made Telahn’s ear twitch. He wasn’t expecting to hear it again. He had assumed they were going to send the man to the nearest city to make his own way back home. A Tevinter mage staying in their camp? Utterly unheard of.

 

“Of course I love him, he is my son.”

 

There was a beat of silence.

 

“Is he actually yours?” Telahn heard his mother’s sharp intake of breath. “Wait, I don’t mean… I mean to say, did you give birth to him?”

 

“Whether or not I gave birth to him has nothing to do with whether or not he is _mine_.” Her voice was low, almost a growl. Protective, like a wolf defending her young.

 

“I—I know, I just…”

 

“You are young, Dorian Pavus, and you have much to learn.”

 

The silence that followed was tense. The sound of blankets shifted across the fire; then settled.

 

“What is it like between you and your parents?”

 

Telahn wondered what Dorian’s face had said to warrant that question.

 

“It’s very different from how it is between you and Telahn.” He paused and the blankets shifted again. “They barely know me, and, well… have a lot of expectations that I simply cannot meet.”

 

“Did they not raise you? How could they not know you?” There was a curious tilt in her tone.

 

“When I wasn’t sent away to different schools to live at, I was raised mostly by my father and uh, servants-”

 

His mother took a sharp intake of breath. “You mean slaves.”

 

“… yes. I do,” there was a pregnant pause, so much being unsaid. “My- my mother, she is drunk more often than not. Some days I think she forgot she even had a child. I can’t remember the last time we had a conversation that didn’t involve her spilling wine on her dress because she swayed too much to stand up without help.”

 

“…I see.” Her tone changed, lighter perhaps, a touch sympathetic. “And your father?”

 

“He has a very clear image of what he thinks I should be, and I’m not capable of being that person. He is quite disappointed in me. And angry, given all the trouble I get into.”

 

A moment passed and Telahn felt himself slipping back to sleep. The hand stroking his hair carried on, languidly brushing the strands.

 

“In all honesty I am finding myself a little bit jealous.”

 

“Jealous?”

 

“I don’t think my mother has ever comforted me after a nightmare.” The hand paused for a moment, and silence followed. “Or my father for that matter.”

 

Telahn did not expect to pity him, but the tone in which he had spoken was miserable and hollow.

 

“That is… sad.” His mother’s voice was gentle and Dorian did not respond. “And a rather lonely way to live.”

 

“I think that girl, the little one—”

 

“Aranehn?”

 

“Yes, her… I think- I think she will be very happy here. Very well cared for.” He paused, then let out a tiny, self-pitying laugh. “I can’t believe I am jealous of a _child_. A child freed from slavery earlier _today_.”

 

“Yes, that is rather petty.” His mother began to say more, but Telahn couldn’t make sense of the words.

 

He slipped back to sleep.

 

 

 

When he awoke properly the next morning, Dorian was gone and Telahn could only remember hints of the conversation he had overheard. He had left as the sun was rising, his mother told him. The Keeper had provided him with a map, one of the horses they had gained from the wagons, and then handed him a small supply of rations and a water pouch.  A generous goodbye for a Tevinter mage.

 

He had bowed respectfully when he thanked her, apparently, and his mother sounded almost fond as she described it.

 

The others they had rescued from the cage were staying longer, helping the clan pack up their tents and prepare the aravels for travelling. They had permission to stay until they were safely far from the Tevinter border, deeper into the Free Marches.

 

“We will try to find somewhere near Tantervale,” Keeper Deshanna said, addressing the freed slaves who had been gathered in the Healing tent. “We will guide you to town if you wish, though you do not have to leave straight away.” She then looked at the elven people, her expression serious. “My people, if you wish to stay with us indefinitely, then that can be discussed, but we have a way of life here, and that must be respected.”

 

Telahn could see some of them looked to be considering it. He hoped they would stay and find a home with the clan like he had.

 

Aranehn already had Dalinev wrapped around her little finger. He watched earlier as Dalinev carried out his morning tasks with the small girl wrapped around his shoulders, legs tight around his chest. She had been giggling. Completely draped over Dalinev as he sat beside Telahn and tried to peel potatoes.

 

“You helped us yesterday too, didn’t you?” Aranehn said, looking at Telahn curiously.

 

“Yeah,” Telahn smiled softly at her. “But Dalinev did most of the work.”

 

Aranehn nodded as if it was a given. Telahn had a feeling he could tell her that Dalinev hung the stars in the sky and she would believe him.

 

“Ahem,” Dalinev pointed at Telahn with a half-peeled potato. “No putting yourself down. It’s not allowed and completely incorrect.”

 

“I’m not! I’m just saying you did most of the work!” Telahn protested.

 

Dalinev wagged the potato at him, raising his eyebrows in a mocking challenge. “Oh yeah? Then how come the Keeper agrees with me that you’re ready for your _vallaslin_?”

 

Telahn’s mouth dropped open. “ _Seriously?_ ”

 

Aranehn tilted her head as Dalinev congratulated him. Her hair had been washed, brushed and carefully braided in the same style as Dalinev wore his.

 

“What’s valsaline?”

 

As Dalinev continued to peel the potatoes and explained _vallaslin_ to the girl, Telahn smiled. He remembered Dorian’s words, saying that Aranehn would be happy and cared for.

 

He agreed.

 

He wasn’t sure whether he had liked Dorian, or whether he was sincerely a good man or not. He had been spoilt and wealthy, clearly, but alone. His jealousy and hollow tone speaking louder than the words he said. Telahn hoped that, wherever he may end up in life, the man was not so lonely.

**Author's Note:**

> I used the Project Elvhen content by FenxShiral for all my Elvhen language and choosing the characters names and everything lmao. 
> 
> I also tried to make the translations of the Dalish language spoken throughout clear just through the text but here they are anyway:
> 
> Dhava ‘ma masa = kiss my ass  
> Da’lath’in = little heart  
> Lethal’lin = kin blood. Essentially someone who is as close as family.  
> Mae = mum, mummy, ma, that kinda thing  
> Bae = dad, daddy, that kinda thing  
> Girem’lin = gender neutral way of saying slave or owned person
> 
> Also when they’re fighting, Dalinev shouts “Lasa adahl su nar masa” which essentially means “shove a tree up your ass” and I think that’s beautiful
> 
> (also Yara says dahn’direlan meaning idiot, but the more literal translation for dahn’direlan is like one who punches bees/bee puncher and I think that’s beautiful too)
> 
> \----
> 
> also this was just meant to be a dumb story abt someone using my favourite weapon in the game and suddenly its almost 7k and i have feelings??? i also have so much in my backstory for Telahn and ideas abt the Clan that just doesn't fit in this so im gonna have to write another whole story oh no
> 
> anyway pls let me know your thoughts!! i haven't written anything in ages and feedback would be greatly appreciated


End file.
